


Misunderstandings And Silence

by CommanderMerone



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Gen, POV Second Person, people are gonna die in it, there's some swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderMerone/pseuds/CommanderMerone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'll save your friends and take it to the ones that got you into this shit in the first place! There's no way that can really go wrong, honestly.<br/>[AU of The Third Way/Ending C}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rescue Lamar

Lamar was in trouble again, so of course, you go to bail him out.

For old times' sake, you know? He sounded frantic enough over the radio, which had you pretty much dashing through the doors to help him, though he seemed to have most of this handled. "Eh, these punks causing you trouble?" You exchange grins with Lamar, his more of relief than anything, and duck behind cover. "It wouldn't be right if I didn't have to save your ass just once."

Lamar scoffs and downs someone trying to peek out of cover before coming back with, "Save me? Nigga I just wanted some company."

You trade lines back and forth, almost ignoring the danger of being preoccupied when more and more FIB agents start to come in from seemingly nowhere. It's something you might wanna address, but it's ignored once Michael’s voice comes over the radio.

"T, T, come in." Well shit, he sounds worried enough. "Frank, I think T's in trouble, There's an FIB team where I last saw him, and he ain't responding."

You're not... worried or anything, but your hopes for this going off without too many problems are already starting to dim. But you're sticking with Lamar for right now(you owe him this much), and you tell Michael as much. He curses, like always, and then you're back to mowing down FIB agents.

It seems easy enough, especially once the last agent goes down under a hail of bullets. Grinning, you turn to check on Lamar, but it drops soon enough once you hear another gunshot. Was that you or Lamar? It wasn’t like either of you really needed to waste anymore bullets, not with how quiet it was, but then you notice Lamar sink back down behind cover. Wait... it's more like he fell, and that's when you realize that last agent wasn't fully dead, but only once they draw their last breath. Which pretty much robs you of any revenge, though you unload a clip into them anyway.

And then you vault over the box Lamar was sitting behind, frantically checking the damage. He meets you with a pained grin and a bullet wound in his stomach, and... what the fuck was this? Of course, you know what it was, but Lamar getting shot? That just wasn't some shit that was supposed to happen, and you hope that maybe if you disbelieve enough, he'll suddenly hop up and say it was some kind of joke. Though, the arrival of more FIB agents really cut into the dramatic reveal you were waiting for.

You can hear M over the radio, frantically calling for Trevor to respond, but before you can say something to either of them, the signal's quickly cut out by a loud sort of sizzling noise. The radio silence is worrying, and that combined with Lamar's injuries have you panicking a bit. Lamar actually seems surprised for once, already pressing his hands to his stomach while his mouth opens and closes in disbelief. Being shot's not new, but... it's never really been this serious. You share a shocked silence before he finally says, "This uh... This don't look too good, do it?" That was the simple way to put it, sure. As he keeps his hands pressed to the wound, you can already see him trying to grin and make some kind of joke. Is it for your sake, or his? Or maybe he's just being an asshole again? Either way, he's an injured asshole.

You toss a grenade and wait, the resulting explosion almost taking too long to happen, though the screams alleviate a bit of your stress. Lamar's breathing was beginning to quicken, causing you to desperately try calling for the other two. "T, M, one of you need to get over here! There's some serious shit going down where I'm at, and Lamar--"

"Aw nigga, you ain't gotta worry about me like I'm some kinda bitch..."

Any other time, his contrary remarks would just be a source of annoyance. something you could joke about later on when this was all settled. "Dog, you already lost so much blood, and--"

"It ain't even that bad, calm down." Of course, he's saying this while trying to keep his blood on the inside, crimson pooling in the webs of his fingers.

"Lamar, just... stop talking for a bit. They'll come and bring the first aid kit, alright?"

"Wasn't them old dudes dealin' with shit in there, too? I kinda doubt they'll be able to drop everything to swoop in and save the ass of you and some nigga they barely know." It is strange that the radio's been silent for this long, but you figure they're just having some temporary difficulties, and that they'll be there to help you soon. Because... because they have to be here soon, you _need_ them to be.

"Dog, just let me get the first aid kit. Then I can fix you up, just hold on!" As you go to retrieve the kit, an insistent tug holds you back. Confused, you look back down at Lamar, wondering why he shook his head. "Eh, don't start being dumb with me right now! Just let me go--" Lamar shakes his head again and weakly chuckles.

"Nah, nigga, don't even waste your time."

You freeze at that, realization's cold fingers working their way up your spine, and now it's your turn to shake your head, though it's more out of denial and frustration than pained resignation. "No. No! C'mon man, it's just through that door." Your eyes are wide with panicked enthusiasm, and you try moving Lamar towards it. "I can get you over there dog, don't even worry. It's just over there." A pained grunt and another sharp tug at your arm causes your face to twist, though the bullets whizzing past your head are another bit of incentive to get you to stop, and you immediately cease your efforts in trying to move Lamar so you can check on him.

"This...this ain't really the suburbs, is it?"

"It's right over there..."

You tell yourself that you aren't crying, but Lamar's able to pick up on how pitiful your voice sounds. "Nigga, you just gonna have to let that one go. You know how it is, Frank. I just ain't dyin' in the hood, surprisingly. Bet all them Ballas'll be jealous..."

Still trying to keep your emotions in check, you squeeze Lamar's shoulder as tears threaten to fall. "Dog… Lamar, I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have brought you into this."

"Shiiiit...you being more of a pussy than them squaw bitches waiting for me. You had me since the sandbox homie, and I know we ain't exactly in the suburbs and all, but it's time to let go." He smiles at you, which only serves to twist your insides, but other than that he's pretty much silent. Whether it's from catching his breath or thinking, you don't know, but he eventually speaks up again. "You think... you think Chop'll be alright without me?" Though he was till grinning, Lamar's question was quiet, enough to almost be drowned out by the fighting still going on around you. You're too choked up to answer verbally, and you end up nodding, trying to swallow the storm clouds rolling in the back of your throat. "Ha... he always was good like that. Bet he'll cry though, 'cause... he never was good about bein' left alone. It's alright, though, anybody'd cry over me, 'cause I'm such a special motherfucker to end up losin'." There's a hint in his eyes, but you can't really understand what he's getting at. Lamar weakly raises his hand, and you take it, squeezing him so tightly in some misguided attempt to keep him tied to this world. "C'mon nigga, you can do better than that!" It's not until you feel a pull on your hand that you understand what Lamar's trying to do, and then you're chest to chest in one last hug.

“Forum Gangsters, right?"

"You know it, dog.”

You both bite back your words until one of you could no longer put forth the effort, and just as his words died, so did Lamar. Lamar had finally shut up. The realization takes your heart and threatens to tear it out of your chest. As you cling to the body of your friend, you call out your partner's names in a strangled plea. "Michael... _Trevor_. Man, c'mon already, please..."

Only then do you actually let a few tears slip through, your large frame shaking with held back sobs. There has to be someone to blame for this! While the more reasonable choice would be to get pissed at Merryweather and the FIB, some part of you burns with hatred for Michael and Trevor, at least just for the shit they put you through. After all the shit you've gone through either for or because of them, after everything... they couldn't come to help you when it mattered? Honestly, you're madder at himself.

Lamar deserved better than this.

> Rescue Lamar: **FAILED**


	2. Rescue Trevor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, one friend didn't make it. You'll do better with the rest though, definitely.

> _Switch to:_ **Michael**

You're running to check on Trevor, and it sorta seems like a bad idea. Mainly because running really shouldn't be your thing, but the bullets whizzing past you are a good enough second reason. A few of those shots only graze you, and that's some shit you've dealt with before in your long and storied history. The shot that actually hits you comes when you reach Trevor, and it hurts like all hell. You barely manage to slide into cover next to him, "There you are." There's a soft chuckle, and then you add, "Man, you had me worried."

"I was a little winded, alright? I took a TO. It's nice to see you so worked up."

Goddamned Trevor and his being a goddamned dick. You can't help laughing a little, which quickly presents itself as a bad idea. It feels like there's tearing, and of course there's burning, and... Oh, it was two shots. That's not... that's not a good thing, is it?

You clutch at your side, momentarily stopped by pain, and Trevor actually looks worried. Or at least... that Trevor-shaped blob looks worried. He's saying something, but you're busy trying to blink away the roaring in your ears, and part of you faintly notices that it's coming from the radio. Blood-covered fingers fumble for the earpiece as shots ring out next to you(Trevor's not leaving again?), and you try shaking it, as if that'll make it work again somehow. "Piece a'shit thing... C'mon, tell me if the kid's okay!"

"We're just gonna have to go over there, Mike!" After a few more FIB agents go down, Trevor's hoisting you up, one of your arms slung around his shoulder. You bite back a pained noise, just wanting to get out of this damned foundry before you passed out or something. "There should be a first aid kit by one of the doors here, you can use that."

Neither of you have time to fully dress the wound, so Trevor does as best he can in the time you do have. You can feel something digging in your side, so you clench your teeth and try to sit through it, more worried about Franklin than yourself. The radio silence was unnerving, especially when you account for the enemy's sudden surge in numbers. Shit, were they okay out there?

Your patience is rewarded by the sound of metal hitting the floor--one bullet, but weren't there two?--along with more pressure on the wound. As he's searching for the bandages, you vaguely remember that he missed something, probably bullet-related. You figure you should probably say something about that, and you start to, only to be cut off by a frustrated growl. "This first aid kit is complete _shit_! How am I supposed to fix this, Mikey, 'cause you're not 'bleeding out' on me again!"

He's squeezing your shoulders now, a manic look in his eyes, and it pushes the thoughts of your treatment aside. It was hard to concentrate on small details like that anyway, even more so when confronted with your best friend's worry and memories of a betrayal long since past. So, you pat him on the shoulder. "I ain't gonna bleed out on you here, T. We got more important things to worry about, right?"

To say he took it well would just be another lie, 'cause he's shaking his head and trying to find more supplies, though the frantic way he started tossing things out wouldn't help anybody. That's not really what worries you most, though. He's muttering something, almost feverishly. "You're not leaving me again, you fat fuck, I'm actually gonna save you this time, and we can all get outta here. I... I'll save you this time!" You pat him on the shoulder again, turning his attention back to you. He's smiling strangely, looking stuck between laughing and bursting into tears. "I'm gonna save you, Mikey, don't even worry about it."

"T." He's wasting his time.

"I've got this whole thing handled! C'mon, you don't--"

He's really wasting his time, but you don't really want to say that right now. " _Trevor._ "

"But I--" It actually pains you to see his enthusiasm, but it has to stop here. At least for now.

"Focus, T. I need you to patch me up as best you can, alright? We still gotta check on the kid."

He stares at you for a while, his eyes searching you face, but for what? Any hints of lying? You'd like to believe that's the case, but when his eyebrows furrow, you notice his eyes are lingering... where? And then he's leaning in, that face that almost always held a storm of emotions unusually. Shit, is he... it's like he's trying to go in for a kiss! His lips do brush past your cheek, though only to whisper in your ear.

" _Je t'aime, vous morceau de merde._ "

And then he's reaching past you, probably to pick something up, but you aren't really thinking too hard on what that could be.

Obviously you can't understand French, but you can't help thinking that he makes that sorta shit sound nice, with the roughness of his voice and all. It's a sort of juxtaposition thing. Before you can ask what he said, there's pressure on your side. He's applying gauze, ever so carefully(though there's a bit of shaking on his part, or maybe yours?), and once he takes it off he moves to help you up again. "C'mon, let's go check on these kids." When he slings your arm over his shoulder again, you smile through the wincing(it's not like it hurts that bad anymore), and spur him on. Limping your way to the door doesn't really take long, but the sight that greets you both ends up making you feel as though you took an eternity.

> _Rescue Trevor:_ **PASSED**
> 
> _Regroup outside the main doors:_

The kid's pretty much pinned behind cover while holding something off to the side, you can't really tell where his friend is, and _Christ he's covered in blood_. You're about to ask if he's been hit anywhere, but he locks eyes with you. At first he seems relieved, then he notices how Trevor's having to support you, along with the blood on your side, and his eyes widen. But... you can't really tell how he feels about it. He looks pissed and worried and God knows what else, and he only ends up saying one thing: "The first aid kit." You meet his words with a confused look, so he elaborates. "That first aid, the one that was on the door. You used it?" When you nod, he seems to have to steel himself.

Trevor brings you closer, and then you finally realize what, no who, Franklin was holding. Trevor just sets you down next to them, which was good, because he was already shaking with rage.

> _Switch to:_ **Trevor**

It takes almost all you have not to squeeze the absolute shit out of whatever you're holding, mainly because you didn't want to injure Mike and more than he already is, but... fuck. _That can't actually be Lamar, right? Sure, he came off as the type that needed rescuing every once in a while, but not the kind to just die?_ You can see a pool of blood spreading ever so slightly. Franklin's jeans are getting soaked in it, and it's all over the sleeves--shit, it's just all over his clothes in general.

Michael's seen it too, and he tries to move forward despite his injuries. "Jesus, kid... are you alright?" That honestly sounds like the dumbest fucking question, especially when the kid just clams up on you both.

Fuck fuck _fuck **fuck**_ Franklin's not taking it well at all, and Michael's still pretty much hurt. All you can think to do is set Michael down next to Franklin, because you're pretty much going to have to handle this next part. Everything's frustrating, and a harsh and foggy sort of static washes away all other sound as you lift your machine gun and start firing, a snarl curling your lips. "You _cocksuckers_! I'm mailing your entrails back to your boss!" You can't hear them screaming, but the way every gunshot echoes through your mind and tears them all apart, you don't really need their extra noise. Franklin and Michael help, as much as a near catatonic gangbanger and shot up old man can help you, and eventually everyone that tried to fuck with you was dead. Well, everyone that decided to come to the foundry and fuck with you, anyway.

Either way, the fog's lifted, and you head back over to the rest of the group.

> _Switch to:_ **Franklin**

Your fucking eyes burn, but you just give them a half-hearted rub and glance back down at Lamar. Get up to meet them… that’s what you’re supposed to be doing right now, ain’t it? That would be easy enough, but you’re sort of anchored to your spot. You’re not leaving Lamar here, not in this shitty place, so you just lift him and bring you both up to your full heights. The lanky asshole’s height makes it a bit awkward, but you find that you don’t really care as much as you should, even when his head hangs limply and bumps into your shoulder.

And they're already talking without you, suggesting people to get rid of now. Steve Haines is up, Dave Norton’s a no, Devin Weston, well… He was already on the list.

So you throw in a name, sort of.  “What about that Chinese motherfucker?” It’s all you remember at the moment, and it comes out before you can really think of. And then Trevor suggests Stretch and you… Are you angry, or excited, or what? You mainly just come off as confused, so Michael offers to take him for you and Lamar. No known associates or something like that. Smiling to show your gratitude’s just too much effort for you right now, so you offer Michael a thankful nod as he limps over to his car. Trevor’s already called Steve Haines, so that means you’re stuck with Wei Cheng, whoever the fuck that was.

Yeah, you dealt with some of his people when saving M that one time, but other than that you could really care less.

You’re taking Lamar over to the Bagger, as if that’s going to work when he can’t even hold on, when you’re stopped by a hand on your other shoulder. Mechanically, you turn to see who it was, only to give a sort of confused frown at the sight of Trevor. He seems to think over his words for a bit, eventually coming out with, “Why don’t you… just let me take him, F? There’s room in the truck, and later we can give ‘im a good send off!” He’s grinning that weird and kinda creepy grin again, and while you probably shouldn’t want to hand Lamar over, you at least know that he was cool with Trevor. Besides, Trevor seemed like the type that was used to riding with dead bodies, disturbing as that should be.

It would just have to do for now, so you hand him off and hop on the motorcycle, biting back any urge to look back. Maybe you'll feel better after killing someone else. Maybe.


	3. Take Out Stretch

> _»Switch to:_ **Michael**

Stretch went down easily. It was almost funny, really. Of course, you can't remember exactly why it was. Maybe because he talked so much shit, especially considering how easily he went down against some old man that was bleeding out.

Even his friends were easy to get away from, courtesy of a few well-placed sticky bombs. Well, it still took a while to get away, and tossing those bombs was a bit of a strain. When you realize where you've parked, you feel like you might just laugh, but you're already having enough trouble breathing. Or moving, for that matter. Being so close, like… just outside the gates of your home, was weird. It hurts a bit, to think of how you just got them all back together, only to end up leaving.

You still pull out your phone, though. You need to call in the successful hit on Stretch( _this isn't a movie_ ), and... well, you need to hear their voices again. They at least need to be okay, so this could all be worth it. Frank worries you the most, considering the way he looked after losing Lamar, so you go to dial that number first.

And then a conference call comes up.

A relieved smile creases your face as you accept the call, putting it on speaker to avoid the strain of holding the phone up to speak. You take a breath, ready to talk, only to be cut off by two voices in unison.

"Mikey!" "Michael!" Oh, the kid’s using your whole name for once.

"Heh... you two alright?"

Trevor's the first to speak, his excited rough voice coming through the phone, a bit louder than you remember it being able to go. "Steve Haines is nooooo more~!" Unable to laugh, you exhale sharply through your nose. God, you're gonna miss the way he talks. Trevor started to speak again, only for it to be cut off by muffled pleading from somewhere in the background, which was met by an annoyed growl from your friend.

"Jesus, T, who'd you kidnap now?"

Franklin remains silent, but now it's more of a questioning silence, than...whatever it was before.

"Ohoho, you know who~”

"Humor me, T.”

"Devin. Weston." You swear you can just _hear_ the corners of Trevor's mouth curling up at the ends, especially helped by the meth head's smug tone. To contrast, Franklin just gives a terse response explaining that he got his job done, and then he’s back to silence.

"Same here, kid. You don't have to worry about your pal Stretch no more." As you look over your house, you think about the shit that lead up to this moment. Though it was mainly just the little things. That was the second or third time you beat the shit out of a guy for a kid of yours, wasn't it? It's almost hard to keep track, and it gets you to laugh, though you immediately regret it. "Agh, Christ..."

Trevor immediately pipes up. "Mikey! Mikey, you're okay, right?"

"What's up with M?" Shit, the kid sounded worried. You clutch at your side, wishing it wasn't so goddamned hard to breathe, and just end up sighing. It'd be easy to say you were fine, if just out of reflex. But you've built a life on lies, and honestly, you're too tired to end it that way. You just wish you could apologize to Amanda and the kids for, well... dying.

> _Take Out Stretch:_ **PASSED**


	4. Finish Devin

> _Switch to:_ **Trevor**

He’s leaving, he’s leaving… Oh _God_ , he’s leaving you. _Then beg him not to go then, if you care that much. If he means that much, anyway._

The buzzing in your ears starts up again and you desperately try to stop it, to turn it off, because you don’t need your anger now. You need Michael, you need Michael and Franklin, but both already seem to be slipping away from you in one way or another. You need them and you need them to be okay and you need…

You can hear the pained sigh(more like gasps) from your end of your shitty phone in this shitty car with this piece of shit in that fucking trunk back there, but with the exception of said piece of shit, silence is all you can give in response. Are you shocked, maybe? Mike's hurt, you know he is, but you thought you did a good enough job of patching him up. (Oh, but weren't your hands shaking? It doesn’t matter how careful you thought you were, ‘cause you’re just soooo unreliable, Trevor. You're such a bad friend.) Shit shit shit, this is your fault somehow, and there's no one around to take it out on.

Besides Devin, but you're saving him for when everyone gets together.

Then Michael speaks up again, and you find yourself latching on to every word, as if needing more words to add to your memory's Michael because _that one doesn't leave you ever_. "No, I ain't okay." Did you get shot? Because it definitely feels like you were the one shot instead of him now and the little gasp that Franklin makes... Shit, this is going so wrong.

"Yo, T, F... Get that fucker for me, alright? And... sorry for all the shit I gave you two." More words for your memories, and more steps he's taking away from you.

He's laughing. It's disgusting laughter, tainted by pain and dyed with blood, and you can only imagine how the suit's ruined now. None of your words work, and Franklin's screaming now, his earlier stoicism exploding in tearful desperation. "No... no! What the fuck did we do this for, then?! I was tryna save y'all, and Lamar... Lamar died for this, so what the fuck was the _point_?" His voice breaks on the last word, causing you to slam on the brakes to avoid loss of control.

As if you can really keep it when Michael keeps talking. "Kid! Kid... you did good. Alright? I'm so... sorry about Lamar, and you can blame that on me. But... I really appreciate what you did for me an' T." Every word is forced, but... not due to being false, for once. It's more like Michael's struggling to stay awake, _which is bullshit_. "My family's really gonna appreciate it, heh. Take... take care a'..."

And then you're all sitting in silence, the wind taken out of you with his last gasping breath. Now's when you find your words, funnily enough. "M? You're bullshitting me right now, aren't you?" It's all too late for him to hear, of course. "YOU FUCKER, YOU DON'T GET TO LEAVE ME AGAIN!" Just a bit too late, but the way you roar, as tears stream down your face, would really intimidate whoever's in the car with you right now. But no one really gives a shit about Devin.

And it seems as though the only one that gave a shit about you is dead. So you question, quieter now. "This is another one of your bullshit jokes, right? And I'll just have to wait another ten years?" You're so, so ready to wait, to make do with substitutes and only occasionally mourn him, longing for the next time he fucks up and brings you into some new world with some great kid and---

Suddenly you realize that you can hear sobbing. It's not Devin, surprisingly, but Franklin. Wait… Franklin? _Shit shit shit_ _shit shit_ you can’t lose him too, not after all this. You try to calm him down, as if you were good at that sort of thing. _Pull it together so we can kill Devin, c’mon_! "F, he's not... he's not dead. He can't be." You’re crying too, yeah, but your voice always sounds ragged. _We’ll both feel better after this is all over…_ That lie's almost worthy of the fat snake himself, and it's what you both use to make the last leg of this trip.

  * Finish Devin



The fact remains that you've both lost friends, and when you finally push that piece of shit car off the cliff, you find that you don't feel as satisfied as you thought you would, even with the explosion. _Maybe a bit more mutilation would've done the trick..._ And it pisses you right the **fuck** off. You’re screaming at the wreckage and cursing that self-important cock so hard his mother probably feels it back in the past, but what’s the point? Michael’s not here to make some smart quip, and Lamar never got home, so what really is the point? But it is finally over, and Franklin seems to buckle under the realization of what it took to get here, first sagging like a puppet with cut strings.

You catch him before he falls all the way over, easing down to the ground with him. He's shaking, clearly on the verge of tears, but it seems like he's trying to hold back. Is it because you're here? You can feel your own held back tears burning at your eyes, and you're angry at them for coming back when you thought they were done, but you don't choke them back this time. For the kid's sake. There's a shared look, but while he’s sobbing near-silently, you’re pretty much blubbering. The sunset that accompanies your tears is just… so _beautiful_ , but that and pretty much everything else, barely matters now. Eventually you’ll both get up and go back to the Bodhi, so you can at least get Lamar a decent burial. But not right now.

Right now you're both alive, but neither of you can see much point in it.

> _Finish Devin:_ **PASSED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title’s from this bit I really liked in Welcome to Nightvale, and it goes like this:  
> "And yes, you will die – but probably not until everyone you know is already dead, too. Your parents, your friends, your pets...each death leaving a small but irreparable scar on your not-yet-still, still-beating heart. The living tell the dying not to leave, and the dying do not listen. The dying tell us not to be sad for them, and we do not listen. The dialogue between the living and the dead is full of misunderstanding and silence."


End file.
